


A Collection of Fallout 4 Oneshots

by Nyanshadowforce



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Cannibalism, F/M, Feat. Lots and lots of pets, Fluff, Silly, We're all across the map as far as tones go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-01-10 01:08:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12288039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyanshadowforce/pseuds/Nyanshadowforce
Summary: A collection of all of my Fallout 4 Oneshots, Following Jessie Reubens, Paladin Danse, Nick Valentine, and other companions and their encounters scouring the wasteland.





	1. Danses with Deathclaws

**Author's Note:**

> I Apologize for any mischaracterization as I'm still very new to writing Fallout and its characters. Otherwise, I hope you can enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my first fallout fic, and while I'm not all that proud of it anymore, it's interesting to see me trying to get a grip on the characters, environment, and tone I was working with. But personally, the fact that there's a friendly deathclaw here makes up for all that, at least a little bit.

One thing was for sure: Danse cared about Jessie. 

She was smart, and responded well in action. She often made mistakes, but they were little, and she readily learned from them and listened to what she was told. She could follow orders and outdid herself in field missions when it came to certain aspects of them. If it ever came to it, he’d trust her with his life. 

But each coin has two sides. She was also stubborn as hell. If not that, than maybe what some might call crazy.

That wasn’t always a bad thing. Her personality was nothing short of eclectic- Jessie seemed to be near imitating him one moment and then goofing off like a raider on jet, should she have been given the opportunity. Though, this lead to more… creative, solutions to problems before. Ones that had resulted in less shooting and more cooperation on one side or another. There were times when she would walk so far out on a limb that it was all too presumable for said metaphorical limb to snap, leaving their squad at the mercy of the cold, hard ground. It hadn’t happened, not yet, but it wasn’t as if Danse wasn’t allowed to worry.

Like now. Now was one of those times. And Jessie was dragging him out on the limb with her, whether he wanted to come or not. 

“You can’t possibly be serious.” 

The castle courtyard was cool in the gloom of the dawn, the first beams of sun shining overhead and dancing at the top edges of the castle walls. It gleamed from patches of sheen on rusted, metal machines in the center courtyard. Danse crossed his arms as he followed her from the barracks and into the shade. 

“I am.” Jessie glanced back as she retrieved a duffel bag near one of the inner passages, roping it over her shoulder as they continued. “Listen, Maxon put you on the Minuteman draft for a reason. You can handle yourself in nearly every situation, can’t you?”

“I’d prefer not to have to handle this one, knight. But orders are orders, and I suppose you have a point ” 

“That’s General you, Danse.” She was turned away as she spoke, but left enough of a jive in her tone to make sure he knew about the shit-eating grin she wore. He hated that grin, as much as he appreciated Jessie herself. 

On field missions, She was to call him Paladin Danse or Sir, and only that, often times stuttering or jumping to say “Paladin” only after she’d already misplaced her words. It wasn’t surprising in the least to see her take full advantage of the tables being turned. She was his knight, but also the Minuteman general. On her turf, it was her rules. Maxon’s orders. 

But goddamn, if it didn’t feel humiliating. “General.” he corrected himself. “Then if you would, can you give me another briefing of the test? I was only given a short run-down before.” Just to make sure it’s as ridiculous and reckless as it sounds.

He would do what he was told. It didn’t mean he was obligated to like it.

“That, I can do for you. Come on, walk and talk.” Her voice was no longer on account of a taunt, but far too lighthearted to sound like anything of an official. Danse reminded himself to work on her speaking patterns later, when the tables were turned back to their usual. 

Jessie quickened her pace, keeping her gaze on the center yard and, to Danse’s surprise, keeping her stride elegant, avoiding ancient rubble and twisted plumes of grass in her gait. As soon as she began to speak again, her voice developed a makeshift tone of authority. If he hadn’t known any better, the paladin would have swore she was trying to copy himself or Maxon. “The Minutemen have simple goals: Help anyone who needs it at a moment’s notice, and bring the Commonwealth and all who live here together, as one powerful union.” 

At last, she stopped in the shadow of one of the towering cages, turning to face Danse and resting her hands behind her back. Definitely copying Maxon. “That has always been the Minuteman way. But what the old generals didn’t consider was that our kind aren’t the only ones who live and thrive here. What some may choose to call monstrosities- from the simple molerat to the towering deathclaw -also call the commonwealth home. I think it’s our job to see them protected as well and, with these programs and our technology, bring these creatures and humans together.” 

Danse was all too close to opening his mouth, to tell her to remember her lessons from the Brotherhood. Though knowing his place, he kept himself quiet. 

Jessie continued. “And today, as a new member of the BoS-Minuteman draft team, you’re going through beast training. Which means no-” 

“Power armor, weapons, or intent to attack of any kind. Should the test go wrong, I’m to flee and let the artillery regiment take charge.” Danse recited without flinching. We’re also leaving behind our sanity, apparently. 

“You remembered the most important part on your behalf, good...” Jessie trailed off. She opened her mouth to speak once again, but before she could start, the clang of metal echoed through the courtyard, followed by an echoed roar and several more clangs from one of the cages. Though Danse had only taken a step back, Jessie had retreated back several feet, standing somewhat crouched now by the Paladin’s side. 

Danse waited for her to speak again, only for her to continue attempting to catch her breath. He cleared his throat, attempting to push away the tightness that had begun to form. “If… If I may ask, We aren’t starting with whatever may be in those cages, are we?” Of course we are, you idiot! Don’t you know her? 

Jessie cleared her throat as well before returning to her full height and returning to her previous position. She glanced back occasionally. “Well… Yes. Now, I know what you’re thinking- Jessie, you’re trying to feed me to several feral beasts! -No, no I’m not…” 

There’s the Jessie I know, he thought. 

“...This is only the first part of the test. Before we get started with taming and training your own animal, I thought you might want to get acquitted with the creatures we already have. When it comes down to it, they’re fellow Minutemen too. Normally, they’re roaming the perimeter, but I had them placed in their cages to make our meeting more… selective. One-on-one.” She paused to clear her throat once more, and glanced back at the largest cage, reading DEATHCLAW, raising her voice as she spoke. “But I think someone is getting impatient.”

A quieter growl responded from the cage, deteriorating into a warble echoing in steel. He tried his best to ignore the slowly raising goosebumps on his arms. She’s crazy. She really is crazy.

“It’s up to you who you’d like to meet first. The names and everything are on the cages,” She began to prowl back, a grin forming on her face once more and an arm held out in presentation as she started toward the switches on the far wall. “I think you’ll choose well.”

He didn’t like that tone. He didn’t like any of this. 

“Thank you.” Danse nodded, though it wasn’t so much gratitude as it was acknowledgement. He stepped forward one pace, scanning the cages presented. Each of them were labeled, crudely smeared white paint dripping down the rust surface. Still, it didn’t fail to identify what laid inside. Smaller signs underneath the initial label were more neatly scribbled, readable in shadow. 

YAO GUAI  
Brutus  
Sanctuary regiment Carrier 

MIRELURK  
Echo  
Castle regiment Tracker 

DEATHCLAW  
Cupcake  
Starlight regiment Defense and Therapy Animal

A strange name for a monster like that. Danse glanced around for his knight, finding that Jessie had made it all too quickly to the switches for the cages, a hand already hovering near the red handles. 

“Jessie, I’m not the first to do this, am I?” 

“Oh, no, far from it! There was one recruit a couple weeks back- she was just like you -she got her hands on a mirelurk queen after a while. ‘Named it Bertha!”

Danse wasn’t necessarily bad at reading lies or teases, but at this point, Jessie had reached far beyond the point of readability for sarcasm. This wasn’t a joke, it couldn't have been, but there was no doubt in Danse’s mind that Jessie just loved treating it like one.

“Ready, boys?” She called to the men on the wall, all with laser muskets resting in their arms, barrels glowing with pure loaded energy. Their militia hats dipped as to hide their sight from the rays of the morning sun. A few curt replies of nods and quiet “yes”s came from the wall before she looked back at the paladin and nodded. 

He took a heavy breath, reading the information over again as if it were to change. Like so many other things around the minuteman hub, like odd insignias and uncommon training regimens, a detail caught his eye. “Jessie, a question- How can a deathclaw function as a therapy animal?” 

Danse saw out of the corner of his eye, the grin on her face grew wider. “You said deathclaw? We’re going for deathclaw, then?” 

“Jessie, no, wait, I was just asking-!” 

“Alright, deathclaw!” She slammed down the middle switch before he could finish. A surge of blue danced across the wire, sparking at the connection of the deathclaw cage and burning out with a short plume of smoke. 

For the first time in years, Danse froze. Sudden, frigid terror coursed through his veins and mended his legs to the ground he stood on.

Metal shrieked as the door folded upward, rising to hide the smothered paint and reveal an elusive void. Darkness lined the inside, softly outlining the creature hunched within it. Its head raised forward to the newly presented light, tongue flickering out to taste the air. Its maw had protruded into the light enough to give Danse a view of the canines it disclosed. 

It made another rumble, almost a noise of satisfaction before it began to truly withdrawal from its cage. It was albino, leathery scales shrouded in dusty white and pink. Each step shook the ground, slow and thundering, each taken almost leisurely, and all coming straight towards him. 

It had been years since his battle with a deathclaw, Danse could barely remember- but he’d clearly forgotten how massive the monsters were. Paces away, it towered over him, the spikes of its back rising over the top of the cage at full height, at least ten feet or more. What little of its scales reached the sun glistened in white like marred crystal. Even if he’d had his power armor, the lizard’s shadow would cloak him as it did now. 

It leered at him, his blood resurging at the cursed glare. His legs thawed from the ground, and one step back was rapidly followed by another, and another, each made in clumsy haste. The third, however was started with his heel slamming into jagged brick planted in the grass. Danse’s attempt to flee was met with failure as the ground hit him, smaller stones digging into his back and knocking the breath from his lungs. 

He lay dazed a moment, flickers of black and color fluttering across his vision before he shook his head and began shimmying back further. Although, a moment had been more than enough for Jessie’s pet to begin full investigation. It had already bent down to compensate for Danse’s lost height. As he regained focus, their eyes met, his gaze glazed with fear and the monster’s own lost in an intense study. 

There were few times he felt weak as this, all but lost to faded memory. So exposed and powerless. So close to what could very well be the jaws of death. 

The deathclaw lurked closer until its snout was inches from his face, a heavy rumble sounded from its throat, strong enough for Danse to feel it in his chest. He lay frozen as its nostrils flared at him, its tongue running over its teeth. 

You’re going to die. Might as well act like the deed is already done.

The paladin didn’t dare move. As the deathclaw made another noise, something of a growl, He closed his eyes, bracing for jaws to snap down on his throat and crush his airways. 

Time passed. A minute, maybe a few. He couldn’t tell through the rhythmic pounding of his heart. Maybe he was already dead. Maybe Jesse’s pet had crushed his skull so fast and so brutally that he couldn't so much as feel pain. 

Jesse’s pet. He trusted her. Maxon trusted her, and this was the thanks he got. An unplanned or maybe planned betrayal of Danse’s own life being crushed under reptilian jaws- the jaws of a creature she released under the illusion of choice. This was it. 

Only, it wasn’t. 

Something warm pushed against his side, a small amount of dampness seeping into his uniform and a murmur of a huff shortly followed. He opened his eyes, deliberately, and turned to find that the deathclaw’s snout was digging into his side, sniffing like a hog and pushing upward on his thigh. 

He made a noise, something between a whimper and a grunt. A noise that he normally would have never expected coming from himself, instead maybe a new recruit shaken at the sight of a pack of ghouls or the bloodied, hung work of supermutants.

The deathclaw lifted it’s head, examining his face once more, eyes beaming with… Something that wasn’t anger, at the very least. Something far from the instinct to kill. 

God forbid It was curiosity. 

It cocked its head at him, a small warble sounding from the creature’s throat once more, similar to a purr. 

His hands began to push into the ground, slowly but surely lifting himself upright, breath still shaking in a way it hadn’t for as long as he could remember. Danse flinched as the deathclaw pulled away from his side. His back rested on the ground once more. “Alright, I- I won’t move.”

It began to tread behind him, Danse remaining frozen in the rubble and dew-coated grass. The best he could do was gawk and follow its movements as it paced and flared its nostrils until facing his back. He could feel her breath in his hair, and there was a part of him still waiting for jagged bone to crush into him.  
It seemed that- with near extreme care -she nuzzled under his head, her snout eventually resting between his shoulder blades, and his head rested on her own. The surface was leathery, but under the skin and scales rested a skull as strong as steel.

He didn’t move, he didn’t speak. Just waited. Waited for something to happen, to hurt. 

She continued to butt at him, the dull of her horns and head pushing into his back until he was sitting upright. Danse breathed heavily, his fingers digging into the grass they rested on as to make sure he was still alive, that he could still feel and that this wasn’t some crazy nightmare, though his gaze still ran cold and nearly blurred as if frost cloaked his vision 

It sat me up. 

she made a pleased mumble, nudging him once more ensuring he was going to stay up, before turning her concerns elsewhere. The deathclaw returned to his side, sniffing him once more before collapsing its legs and stretching out its arms to lay like a content house cat in the grass. 

In the midst of the blue screen his mind had pulled on him, A new presence had appeared on his other side. He didn’t have to look to know. He didn’t even have the will or understanding left to give so much as a side glare. Jessie spoke through her grin, her voice still far too cheery and rounded for any of this to have been on accident. 

“How’s it going?” 

Danse reached up with a shaky hand, brushing the dust from his hair before weakly resting it against his thigh. His stare remained unmoving from the ground before him, eyes still wide and full of cold fear. “I… didn’t die.” 

Concerningly, she waved a hand in front of his face. He didn’t flinch, nor did he blink. “You alright? Come on, where’s the Danse I know?” she playfully nudged against his side. “You know I would never have released her if she was going to actually hurt you, right?”

Danse brought his knees up to his chest, hooking his arms between them. “A real warning would have been… sufficient, knight.” 

She was close to correcting him, but decided against it, parting her lips and then closing them again as she glanced at the ground. “If it means anything, that went pretty well. See how Cupcake’s sitting like that? She trusts you.”  
She trusts that she can crush me in a single blow if I make a wrong move. “Better than- better than what I thought was going to happen.” 

“Okay, seriously, are you okay? You’re not looking so good.” 

Danse hadn’t a clue what he looked like, but considering everything that had taken place, there was no doubt that he looked anything like the stable, steadfast paladin that he was minutes before. That he was still supposed to be. 

Freezing up was a new one, really. 

“I mean, do you still feel like playing dead? I’ve never seen you pull that one before.”

“No, I’ve done it once before.” Danse looked away from her, glancing at Cupcake instead. “Long time ago. It’s useful for evading mutants that rely on movement to sense their prey.” 

Jesse nodded in understanding. “Still, looked odd seeing you drop like that. I thought you’d actually passed out for a minute.” 

Danse considered balling up tighter, but he decided he’d lost enough of his dignity this morning. He shakily sighed, unfurling and pushing himself to stand. “I was… close. Let’s just go back in now. This uniform is filthy.” 

“We have some minuteman uniforms if you’d like one of those instead. It might be more comfortable, you know.” She stood with him, brushing the dust from her own coat.

“Yes, let's- let’s just go.” He crossed his arms, turning her back to her and heading for the barracks entrance. “And, if you will, don’t speak of this again.” 

“About that… ah, Preston wanted me to file a report of the introduction. He wants to make sure you’re not gonna shoot anything up out of being spooked.” She picked up a clipboard by her side, lifting a paper and skimming over unseen words before holding it at her waist. “If you don’t want him to hear about the playing dead thing, I can just write that you passed out due to shock or sickness.” 

“Can’t you just tell him everything went fine and dandy?” Danse avoided looking at Jessie, but still rubbed the bridge of his nose in irritation.

“Oh, so the big heroic Paladin wants me to lie, does he?” Jesse smirked as she pursued him. “What happened to all that brotherhood stuff about truth and justice that you’re always going on about?” 

“If it… If it concerns my reputation or records, I’d prefer to seem as well-founded as possible.” he crossed his arms. “But considering that you’re the one in charge here, I suppose it’s all up to you what happens.” 

“We’ll see, Danse. We’ll see.” She made a small gesture to the deathclaw residing near them. Cupcake quickly lifted herself, stretching her arms and making indents in the dirt with her claws before rising oh her hind legs and holding them underneath her. Following their stride, her steps were heavy, though fluent and uniform. 

“Infantry can release the other two in an hour or so. Cupcake’s coming with us, though. She does well inside.” 

“Fair enough.” Danse’s tone was stale, close to sour. The deathclaw followed closely, keeping a constant eye between Jessie and himself. 

“Better get used to it, Danse. She already likes you, and both of you happen to be my two best men.”


	2. A Danse With a Valentine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Maxon departs from Listening Post Bravo, Jessie leaves for the nearest town in search of extra supplies, Leaving Danse alone at the listening post with a certain synth detective. Feeling pity, Nick Valentine takes a risk, and reaches out. 
> 
> (Based on the infamous "naked Danse" Blind Betrayal glitch and some discussion with friends on the matter)

When the drone of the vertibird had finally faded over Listening Post Bravo, quiet seeped in and returned to the area like a lingering, poisonous fog. Crickets remained silent, their songs for naught in the midst of tragedy, and the world lay still as wind that had shuddered the branches of the surrounding wood only moments ago had fled with the black metal. 

All that remained was silence. darkness, and regret. 

Danse leaned against the concrete wall, arms wrapped around his knees, head down, yet his gaze remained briskly above his knees, staring into the ground spotted with ancient bloodstains and bits of leaf litter. If he hadn’t been shivering from the cold, skin exposed beyond the common person’s comfort zone, he would have been motionless. 

It was sad, really, how quickly the detective had watched him go from proud paladin to a shivering, near-bare mess with his whole world shattered in his eyes. 

The moment Maxon reported Danse had gone AWOL and was to be searched for, Jessie had fled to the Valentine Detective Agency as quick as her legs could carry her across the commonwealth , shadowed by a brotherhood scribe known as Haylen. The girl had quickly solved their issues in finding their man’s location, but Jessie never dropped Nick’s involvement. Jessie’d never mentioned it, but they both knew why. 

In her experience, some synths stuck together. Having Nick around might help for what they knew was coming, and what had already happened. 

It hadn’t been the first time Nick had been involved in brotherhood affairs. Months ago, Jessie received an assignment to discover who or what was responsible for pounds of missing food from the supply depot. Naturally, she called the detective on site- Nick’s initial appearance had sparked distaste and outcry until he’d helped track down the cause with acute skill, the short temper of the surrounding initiates making the job that much more difficult. Despite it all, he’d helped solve the case. It had earned him tolerance in the Brotherhood’s hub.

So maybe that was why Maxon had allowed his inclusion in the mission, and didn’t blow his circuits apart when he’d spoken up on Danse’s behalf, the star-pupil paladin exposed as a synth. 

“Jessie’s right. He’s served life and limb with the Brotherhood, he hasn’t even known what he was until now- He deserves a fair trial. A fair shot!” 

“Shut it, abomination!” Maxon had barked in return. “It’s no abnormity for a monster to defend another monster. I don’t care what you’ve done for Diamond City, or how you may have assisted knight Reubens- You’re still a synth, and so is Danse. You can’t be trusted!” 

The words stung, but Nick would take them over a bullet any day. 

Danse, however…

Nick leaned on the wall opposite of him, cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. The smoke weaved through him, the brief ember of the tip casting an orange glow on his coat. It was the brightest thing in the room, apart from the near-dead light hanging from the ceiling, a curtain of peeled paint covering part of its wire. It shone a barren white on the rusted desk in between them. 

They’d been avoiding eye contact for fifteen minutes now, If Nick’s internal clocks were working correctly. He glanced briefly at the paladin, who was too deep in his own remorse to fully notice the gleaming gaze. 

Jessie had left not long ago in search of new clothes for Danse, who had been lacking in apparel upon their arrival. Though, given the particular darkness of the night and the hostility Maxon had left in his wake, worry tickled the synth’s mind. The brotherhood was willing to kill or abandon one of their own for being a synth, but would they assassinate another for defending him? 

He would’ve gone with her, but they couldn't afford to leave Danse alone for similar reasons. 

“She should be back in a little while,” Nick broke the silence, voice not far above a whisper. “The nearest house is a decent ways off, but knowing Jessie, she’ll be able to find something easily.” 

Danse looked up at him. His brows were furrowed, but the look in his eyes was more reminiscent of an impatient, pouting child rather than someone who’d just lost everything dear to them. He looked back to the floor quickly. 

It was the best response Nick could hope for, at least at the moment. 

Whether Nick attempted to support him or not, their history wasn’t crisp nor clean. Missions involving both of them too often involved bitter silence, the two simply tolerating each other for Jessie’s sake. If that silence was broken, there were sour comments thrown at each other, and quickly jessie would break in and confiscate weapons until they’d given each other hollow apologies. Apparently, the risk of some ‘friendly fire’ was too great. 

Neither one of them knew why they let it slide, both the weapon confiscation and premature judgement on maturity. Danse was technically her commander, and Nick was his own man. They had every right to their weapons and how they chose to use them, yet, weapons of any kind were always surrendered at Jessie’s word. 

Hm. 

Maybe it wasn’t just Nick. Maybe they both knew, under layers of grime and bitter hatred, that they didn’t really want to kill each other. Perhaps to maim, but not kill. It was something more than a tolerance and something less of a bond, some would say, a middle ground created by their various travels and hidden under layers of ignorance and other outside affairs. 

But it had to be the trail that they always left blazing, a tolerance transitioning into a bond, that lead Nick Valentine to settle himself on the ground beside the shattered paladin, not more than a foot away from him. It could have been that same bond that stopped Danse from lashing out at the sudden close presence, reducing his reaction to a mere flinch. 

Nick crossed his legs, resting his arms between them in the best relaxed position he could manage. When a moment passed without another reaction, he sighed, pulling off his hat and resting it over his chest. “Not sure if you want them, but- I hope it’s alright if I offer some words of wisdom. Quiet’s getting to both of us.” 

Still no response. He continued.

“I… I don’t know how you truly feel, Danse, but I believe I have an idea of what its like to suddenly have your whole world turned around, doubting everything you know. To be alone, discarded, looked down on...” Nick paused to take a drag of nicotine, blowing the smoke away from his company. “I know the feeling more than I’d like to. When I woke up in that garbage heap, my whole identity, everything I thought I knew, gone. It belonged to a world that died long ago.” 

Nick glanced at the former paladin. He still refused to look back. Nick leaned his head down, returning his hat to its place before continuing. “But with honesty, I can say it gets better. It hurts like hell, and you’re gonna find yourself shambling around like a blind bear at times, but it gets better.” The synth plucked the cigarette from his lips, driving embers into the cold concrete. Their world grew dimmer. “In the end, you’re the only one who can accept yourself, If you ever do. The key to it is… Hm, it’s knowing that no matter what the people out there say, no matter how much they stomp you into the ground, you’re still a person. You’re still you. The next step is to give yourself purpose. All of that is easier said than done, though. I know that.” 

To his surprise, he finally caught Danse’s gaze once more, watchful in his monologue. It was hurting, but subtle and thoughtful, as well as quick to disappear again. Nick shook his head in response. “I’m not medusa. Looking at me won’t kill you, you know.” 

Regardless, it was progress. He leaned down to try to catch Danse’s eyes once more, nearly smiling, but the man refuted by turning his head away altogether. Nick could tell reasoning with him later was going to be fun.

To Nick’s surprise, however, Danse twitched. It was followed by a muffled sniffle. 

If they’d gotten this far, he saw little reason to stop now. 

“Here- come here, you’re going to freeze to death like that.” the synth suddenly unhooked the belt of his trench coat, wriggling his arms from the sleeves and scooting closer on his knees as he began to drape it over the paladin. “Arms apart and and up, lets get them through the sleeves.” he tugged at Danse’s arms, nearly as cold as the concrete they sat on, until he gave up resistance and allowed them to fall into the coat. 

“There we go…” Nick relaxed, slowly letting go of the coat that the paladin had allowed himself to be wrapped into, a tired smile of relief on his face as he pulled away. He settled down in his former spot as Danse resituated himself in the faded apparel. “There, that’s better. Not so bad, is it?”

Seeming to give up what little dignity he had left, Danse clung to the gift, shivering becoming more apparent as he moved to fix the buttons over his chest and drape the rest of it over his legs. It was long enough to cover most of him. When it did, he sat still once more, apart from the slowly waning trembling. 

It was far better of an outcome than he could have expected. The weak smile remained as he looked away and instinctively reach to his pocket for another cigarette, only to quickly remember where the pocket and its contents now were. 

He quietly lowered his arm. It may have been better than him stuffing up the room more than it needed to be. Two hundred years of untidiness resulted in the walls being lined with a thin layer white and grey mold, leaving it musty despite open air flowing in from the door. 

The world outside slowly returned to life, a new gust of wind tickling the leaves and branches of the surrounding wood along with stray gunshots echoing occasionally in the distance. Although it was the sound of battle, it was still the sound of their home. Though it had come alive once more, the night remained still. 

Peaceful, almost. 

Valentine toyed with a bent can he’d picked up nearby, creating small marks and indentions with sharp wire fingers. A poor cure for boredom, but it was something to do regardless.

He decided to look at Danse again, boredom prompting curiosity and contact. he had unfurled compared to how he sat before, but the look in his eyes was drained once more, staring at nothing, eyes saying everything and nothing at once. 

What Nick saw sitting beside him, looking closer, wasn’t a synth, but simply another man. 

“Synth”, spat with hatred and disregard in the wasteland, was a hollow title. For the new generation the institute had created, it had no meaning. Synths were human, more so than some people who ravaged their scorched lands.

Another man. Nick’s soul was crafted from metal and wire, routed into a mainframe, yet… here he was. Offering condolences to a lost soul. No less human than the rest of them.

So why wasn’t he just The Detective?

Nick cleared his throat, pushing the philosophy to the back of his mind. There were different things to think about now. “You know, I… There was something I told Jessie a few months back, after the battle at Fort Hagen. I just thought you might want to hear it, too.” 

Danse lifted his head slightly, Nick found himself finally able to look into his deep gaze without the paladin shying away. Progress seemed to be coming along quicker and quicker; He was listening. 

“I just want to to know that, although the night just got darker, It won’t last forever. You’re strong willed, despite all of this.” Nick smiled, nodding slightly. “Jessie’s good at getting things situated- helping people find their purpose. She’s gathered a rag-tag family to say for it, If nothing else. You’ll do-” 

His sentence was cut off in a grunt as Danse nearly tackled him, strong arms wrapping around the synth’s middle and his face quickly buried into a dirtied shirt collar. Nick went rigid, hands raised in alarm and eyes wide. 

The following movements were slow, adjusting to Nick’s side. It wasn’t an attack in the slightest, Nick realized as Danse’s breath hitched, breaking into a sob. 

Danse hadn’t just been shaking from the cold, either. “Oh- Oh boy. Hey now, Its alright…” he slowly rested his arm on the former paladin’s back, surprisingly warm in the night, moving his arm back and forth. 

Nick didn’t consider himself the comforting type, though according to Jessie, he managed well. It was an odd situation, with who exactly was practically in his lap, but this was the commonwealth, and he’d gone through far weirder. And, In Danse’s world, maybe something close to but not quite worse. 

None of them were strangers to grief. He found that the best he could do was simply be what Danse had already begun using him as; A shoulder to cry on. 

It was much better than being the synth abomination. 

The paladin’s tears were heavy, as were his sobs, weighed down by the fate none of them had expected. He occasionally clutched Nick’s shirt tighter,, tugging it taut over polymer skin, as his shoulders shook with each unstable breath. 

“Shh, Shh... It’s alright. Not so loud, now, you might scare the yao guai.” Nick continued to stroke Danse’s back, His half-hearted attempt at humor seemingly noticed. After a particularly wet sniffle, his breaths became longer, still hitching every few moments, but slowing down nonetheless. Calming down appeared to be a struggle, and there was no wondering why. 

They stayed like that for a little while, Danse’s tears flowing until Nick swore they looked painful and until his shirt collar was thoroughly soaked. 

“There we go…” as his company began to slowly relax, Nick spoke softly, as if addressing a child. “Nothing like a good cry to ease things up, huh?” 

There was a long pause, Danse soon growing quiet again. At least, as quiet as he could manage. But then, after he took a short breath, his words came in a weak croak. 

“How do you do it?” 

Nick’s smile faded with the question, dwelling on a slow answer.

How did he do it?

He stopped the rubbing motion, simply resting his arm on Danse’s back. Starting with a sigh, he said “I’ll be level with you, Danse. Some days, I don’t. Others, I don’t know how, but I get by.” 

He looked darkly at the ceiling, watching idly as a white moth fluttered around the weakening light, wing beats desperate and erratic. Looking closely, he could see one of the creature’s wings was tattered. 

Nick continued softly, “In this world of ours, this goddamn hell that we live in, life’s unfair. I’m sure you’ve learned that. But what you do is find purpose in the little things. A small act of kindness is worth something one day, even if everything goes to hell the next. When you look at the details, there’s a lot to live for.” 

Danse grunted, nearly whimpered, in response. Perhaps further shame was beginning to set in. 

Seizing the moment, Nick carefully reached into his coat pocket, snatching his cigarettes and light before pocketing them in his dress pants. Thankfully, Danse didn’t seem to care. 

“Don’t tell yourself that your life’s over, pal. Things are only just beginning.”


	3. Harpoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jessie finds herself with a new thorn in her side whilst trying to defend Echo Lake Lumber Mill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhat Based on something that happened in-game, and what I imaged happened afterward.

It had been months since her first arrival to the Island, perhaps even a year.

Peace between Mount Desert’s residents was a delicate thing, though the claims of Atom’s demand for peace coming from High Confessor Tektus were considered enough to keep most islanders in their respective territories. The Children of Atom would keep to the Nucleus and its surrounding wilds and springs, Acadia would stay on its hill, and other islanders and harbormen would stick to the docks and patches of land where the Children had allowed for the fog condensers to remain intact.

After weeks of building and organization, Harbormen shifted away from the docks and into the lands graced by the presence of the fog condensers. Some areas were ideal for rebuilding and settling again, though the task was easier said than done. The visitor center still needed vast amounts of repairs, and the Dolton Farm was slowly yet surely being transitioned into a fog crawler sanctuary. If the island was to be any safer, harbormen would need educate themselves on and utilize the fauna. At least, that was what Jessie had claimed. But progress was progress. 

Echo Lake Lumber was, thus far, Jessie’s pride and joy. The vast supply of logs and machinery proved useful in building more commodities, and the buildings that still stood were more than enough to retain a decent group of good men. Unlike the settlers and drifters of the commonwealth, they were hardy, and had proven more than capable of handling themselves once supplied. An impressive amount of defenses had been set up when Jessie returned in her last visit. To her relief, her office had also been left untouched. 

But all of that didn’t stop her heart from leaping out of her chest when the distress signal shook the pip-boy at her wrist, and Danse reported flares from the distant wood. 

It had been Hancock’s first taste of the island, a place that that Jessie spoke so profusely about. He was hesitant, considering that some of the locals had twisted his friend the ways of the Children, but it wasn’t like she had turned violent towards those she cared about, or started trying to drag anyone else into “Atom’s glow” as well; If she had, that would be a whole new kind of mess to deal with. 

But all the same, she hadn’t. If he knew Jessie, he knew that she brought herself into it willingly, and wouldn't have made that any different for anyone else who got involved in the Children’s… activities. Besides, it wasn’t as if he wouldn't have welcomed one of the Children of Atom into Goodneighbor either. Jessie was still Jessie, odd habits and all. 

If anything, Jessie’d created more peace between the Children of Atom and the people who opposed them. Especially since her return from the island. That was more than the rest of them could ask for, even though nobody in particular wanted to say it. 

If anyone could call a ceasefire between the Brotherhood of Steel and a cult of radiation worshippers, or ally the Minutemen with said radiation worshippers, it was her. She was a legend to all of them, and her new affiliation with Atom had meant that much more. 

Hancock had to admit: the armor they donned was pretty damn cool. 

But, while Jessie had made plenty of new friends, the Children still had enemies. On the island, they had little tolerance for people who worshipped the fog in a different way. 

The Trappers.

They lived in it, thriving in it until it became part of their blood and mind. They lurked in the deep fog preying on unlucky islanders; Most prefered the taste of human flesh to venison or mirelurk, and on that night, a decent-sized group decided to make a meal of the residents at Echo Lake Lumber Mill. 

They were her kind. There was no more hiding the crazed look in her eyes when a battle flared in the deep fog. There was no keeping secrets; Nick had seen her snap, lunging for a trapper’s neck after finding he had killed one of Acadia’s synths. There was no erasing the memory of her sharpened teeth tearing at the tender flesh of the man’s throat, devouring part of him alive as she held him down, his screams coming out as a choked gurgle. The description of the event had sent freezing shivers down Hancock’s spine, and the look in everyone else’s eyes spoke for themselves. 

Her hatred for the trappers was evident, though. No part of her hesitated as she charged through the foggy wilderness. Hancock stumbled behind her in the unfamiliar territory. Even Danse, in his bulky power armor, managed to maneuver ahead of the ghoul. 

Jessie moved like a panther through the brush, Quick and silent, blending in with the brown-violet brush and the pine trees colored of dried blood, all illuminated under ghostly bluish green moonlight. She and Danse were synced in their movements, knowing nearly every turn and patch of wood. Hancock, however, experienced the blessing of being pulled and dragged by his collar several times. At one point, dragged by his leg. He was forced to hold back a decent collection of curses, and he swore Danse was grinning at the ghoul’s struggles under the cover of his hunter’s hood. 

In the one moment they stopped, Jessie stalked through the trees silently, nudging Hancock. She nodded into the dark, prompting him to gaze into the inky night. His eyes narrowed, he realized the presence of a massive figure striding distant in the fog. 

“The fuck is that?” He whispered, their bodies uncomfortably close together. 

“Fog crawler. Never charge one, unless you have a plan.” 

When he glanced at Danse, the ex-paladin nodded, eyes full of dark knowing. 

As they continued to drift through the forests of acadia, gunshots echoed in the distance, guiding them to move faster. Like wolves, they strided in their hunt, making a short leap down a bulge when their eyes fell on Echo Lake. Like fireflies, guns burst in short lived flashes, turrets fired their contents upon tracked hostiles, and cries of fear and anger rebound over the water and land. 

Jessie growled. She reached behind her, clutching the hilt of a weapon on her back and unsheathing it to reveal the jagged blade, _Kremvh’s Tooth_. Nudging Hancock once more, she placed the hilt in his palm. 

He raised an eyebrow, glancing at the sword then back at her. “Jess?” 

“You’re going to need more than just that shotgun. They fight like dogs.” 

He turned to look at the firefight once more, tightening the grip on the weapon and rolling his shoulders. “Alrighty then. Good for first impressions?” 

Jesse reached behind her once more, unsheathing her own trademark blade: A fiery sword named Shishkebab. As she pulled on the gas trigger, flames danced over the blade, lighting the space around them like a lantern. Looking fromthe corner of his eye, he saw that Danse held a glowing hammer in his arms. The irradiated light reflected in his chestnut eyes, refracting the light like wet stones in a summer storm. 

“They’ve held the line so far,” Danse’s voice was muffled behind his bandana. “When do we hit?” 

Jessie tensed. Right then, Hancock saw something new: A spark in her eyes, narrowed like a beast on the hunt. It wasn’t a look that he’d seen from her before. 

“Now.” 

She leapt from her position, prowling behind the attacking trappers with her partners following suit. As they rapidly approached, her low posture broke, and she stood up in a sprint. With Hancock’s distance and the fog, nothing he saw was truly clear, though the way she bent her arms to her middle for a short moment was a recognized and familiar movement. 

That was new, too. 

“Fucking _kill!_ ” 

With a battle cry, the flames of her blade at ignited at last, slamming into the shoulder of an unsuspecting trapper. He shrieked in pain as the sword cut deeper into his neck. Several narrowed eyes turned to face the ambush behind them. 

As Hancock charged, he let out a battle cry of his own, slicing Kremvh’s Tooth into the throat of a trapper that had made the mistake of turning to face him. Even in death, the man’s eyes were wide with an excited fury, and a grin rested on his face. The ghoul liked to think that he hadn’t known what hit him. When another trapper grabbed his arm, he pulled back and jutted his elbow into her gut before sliding the poisoned blade over her face. She was sent reeling back, screaming in pain. 

Danse, meanwhile, had taken other tactics to fighting the horde. Perhaps considered more merciful, he slammed into their spines and midsections with his glowing warhammer, crushing their weapons underfoot as he left his victim on the concrete to seek another opponent. Bullets bounced uselessly against his armor, creating sparks and flashes as they grazed and dented the metal. 

As he pushed further, Hancock felt several heavy bullets butt into his coat, failing to puncture. He silently thanked himself for allowing Jessie to modify the frock coat. Although they’d leave nasty bruises, it was better than a bullet wound on any day. 

Two more trappers attempted to take him down only for one to be met with the hilt of a shotgun bashing into their skull, and the other with the point of a blade just barely touching their adam’s apple. They had stiffened in cowardice. All it took was a grin from the ghoul to send the young man fleeting back into the wilds, howling like an injured mongrel. It was those moments that made battle worth it. 

He realized, as he had advanced through the hostile scene, others had begun to follow suit of the cowardly trapper. He made sure to land attacks on the spines and in between the shoulder blades of those fleeing as they darted past him, and felt himself grin as some had tripped, desperately scrambling to stand back up and flee. 

As short lived as the battle seemed, the tides had been turned in Jessie’s victory. 

Though, not all of their enemies had fled. A hooded man charged for him, a pole hook raised to slice into Hancock’s shoulder. He ducked, prowling behind the trapper as he stumbled. Hancock’s arm was quickly wrapped around the trapper’s neck, blade poised at his throat. 

“For the _people!_ ” He yelled, ripping the metal over the man’s throat, sending blood spilling onto the pavement. 

Hancock had always been accustomed to smaller blades, but he had to admit that a sword was something he could get used to. 

Jessie would have to give him proper training, but it would be worth it. After all, who was John Hancock if he didn’t know how to properly sparr with a revolutionary sword? 

A deep, frustrated yell tore Hancock from his thoughts. He turned to the source of the noise: 

The trapper was a burly man, cloaked in thick leathers laced with chains and animal teeth. His positioning at the gate of Echo Lake signified a front line position, and the harpoon cannon in his hands suggested a high rank among his kind. His eyes glowed with a menace hancock had never quite seen before, one dimmed underneath a fresh scar. The undoing of his jaws in a fearsome growl revealed two small, sharp canines. Teeth like Jessie’s. 

Jessie, who stood before him, struggling with a woman in lighter leathers. The other woman broke free, Jessie cutting into her abdomen with Shishkebab as she did. 

“Damn you!” The shout had only caught Jessie’s attention for a split second. By the time she faced the trapper leader, it was a split second too late. 

Time slowed without a hit of jet to make it so. The harpoon gun bucked as it fired, plunging the sharp, russet metal piece into Jessie’s gut. 

“JESS!”

She stood motionless. Her body had raised itself into a defensive position, somehow standing strong and sturdy after the blow. Time had become lost to her as well; Her eyes, glazed over, haltingly surveyed the surrounding battleground before fixing on the harpoon that had been lodged so neatly above her thigh. With a weak cough, blood began to drip from the corners of her lips. 

She covered her jaw shakily, giving a few more coughs before wiping her mouth, staining her mug in red. 

The rest of the attackers had only continued to flee the scene, those who hadn’t stopped on the sidelines to watch the tableau before them. The trapper leader examined her, brows furrowed in a confused rage. 

Their eyes seemed to meet. Jessie’s expression did not change. 

Jessie’s blade fell from her fingers, dropping onto the pavement with a ringing clang. She reached for her belt, on the side of her body vacant of a harpoon, pulling a syringe from one of the armor’s ammo packs. She jammed it into her stomach with little hesitation, breath hitching in an unsteady laugh as she did. 

“What the _fuck?_ ” 

Her attacker’s confusion (and perhaps hidden fear) only seemed to please and motivate her actions further. She sluggishly wrapped her fingers around the harpoon inside of her, inhaling as she prepared to pull. 

Danse’s muffled and panicked tone was heard nearby. “Jessie, don’t! It’ll only-”

She yanked with a grunt, the harpoon leaving a gaping wound in its wake as it slid from her flesh. All who watched the scene cringed at the carnage.

The wound spit blood onto the concrete, but Jessie payed no mind. She toyed with the weapon in her fingers, admiring her own blood that had covered its surface and the weight in her hand. 

The trapper leader remained as horrified as the rest of them had, silent and aghast. 

Hancock glanced around for a short moment, receiving a nod from their former paladin before returning his attention to the spectacle. 

Jessie had begun to shiver. Leisurely, she turned the harpoon in her hands, fitting it in her fist and resting her arms at her side as she stared down her attacker once more with a dark glint in her eyes. 

Before the man could voice his distaste, she lunged with a furious screech, landing the harpoon in the trapper’s eye socket. He had been too dumbfounded to reload his cannon, too slow to have even had a chance at landing another shot. After being pulled from the man’s skull, Jessie reared back, replanting it in his heart twice over. 

The scream stopped, the last of the shrieking cry ringing over the waters of Echo Lake, becoming lost to the acadian forest. When the noise had faded, the remaining trappers disappeared into the forests in which they came. 

Jessie stood up over the corpse. Her eyes had never lost their glint, but it seemed to weaken with the fading triumph of a successful kill. She stumbled backward two steps, suddenly cradling her gut before falling to the pavement, crumpling like a wounded hound.

The residents of the lumber mill had begun to creep from the shadows, their weapons holstered and their clothes ruffled from the firefight. 

“Jessie!” Danse cried out her name, immediately wriggling out of his armor and racing to her side. Hancock did the same, unsure of what he’d seen was real, or if the entire trip to the island had just been some unprecedented high. 

But whether or not he wanted to believe it, this was still Jessie. Curled up on the ground, bleeding out with her paladin mumbling rushed, worried sentences as he attempted to treat her wounds. 

“Why’d you do that, you’re- god, stay with me -you’re better than that…” His eyes darted from Jessie to the contents of her pack. In the other hand he loosely held an empty syringe. 

Hancock recognized the item. It had been difficult to tell in the dark, but now, his suspicions were revealed clear as day. He bent down with Danse, plucking the syringe from his hand. He didn’t seem to care. 

“It’s Psycho-jet.” he rasped. The syringe could have been easily mistaken for straight psycho; what gave it away from its common relative was the difference in the color of dosage. The inside was dotted with droplets of red-violet liquid. 

It explained part of her behavior. The drug was renowned for making one akin to a berserker, but the most dangerous part about it was that they couldn’t feel pain when it hit them. Users were oblivious to their wounds until it was too late. Hancock had seen it happen before.

Jessie, however, was another story. She was on a double dosage, after all, if she had injected herself while charging into the fight. It may have been the only thing keeping her conscious. Her body continued to tremble, fingers twitching as she fought to keep awake. Danse had already pulled off her armor, and although injured, it was wasn’t hard to tell exactly how built she was just from looking at her figure. 

If there was anything Hancock knew about chems, it was that there were two things further dosages could do; Balance her system, or overdose her. 

If things were this bad now, maybe it wouldn't hurt to give it a shot. 

“You find her med pack yet?” He leaned toward Danse, an urgency in his voice. “Forget about bandages, grab some med-x and a stimpak, now!” 

“You’re putting more shit in her system?” 

“Do you want her to live or not?” 

Two more syringes were immediately placed in Hancock’s hand. Careful not to confuse the two, he planted the stimpak into her gut near the wound. Her body lurched at the movement. Jessie groaned. 

“Oh, life is horrible, I know.” He mumbled at her muffled protests. Though, disregarding them, he pulled the armor from her arm and dosed her with Med-x. “Stay awake with me now, alright? This’ll made the pain stop. I hope.” 

Danse poured the remainder of a bottle of whiskey on her wound, perhaps too hastily, the alcohol spattering to the ground and mixing with her blood. Jessie’s breathing had gradually slowed, though her body still quavered. 

“Okay, now we worry about the wounds. Any bandages in there?” Hancock leaned over again, scanning Jessie’s pack only to find that Danse had grabbed them ahead of time. He was already applying them, Pushing Jessie’s uniform out of the way. His eyes were narrows in an intent focus as blood soaked through the white. 

A crowd of residents had gathered close, watching them care for her. Many of their gazes had fallen on Hancock. In his experience, starting from strangers wasn’t unusual, but there was a detail that came to him then: he hadn’t yet seen a ghoul of his own kind on the island. Something about the fog must have prevented them from developing, as it already twisted the minds of those living in it. Even with his new audience, John found himself brushing the sodden locks of hair from her cheeks tenderly. Her eyes were closed, but she was still woken in the expression of discomfort.

“Come on now Jess. Stay with me, stay with me…” 

She craned her neck to face the night sky. One of her eyes opened- the only one that had been left without warpaint -and even through all of her pain, a small smile perked her lips at the sight of the stars.


	4. Teething

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jessie has new fangs, and she loves to use them far too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a very silly conversation with a friend over tumblr. (there may me more edits made later)

The sound of gnawing, like chalk over wood, was one of the few sounds that filled the room. 

It was one of the quieter evenings, a rarity at castle, and most of the others had retreated to their own quarters for the night. Those who remained lingered in the halls and kitchens, bored in the peaceful night or mindlessly wandering for the sake of thought. 

Dinner seemed to have satisfied the most of them. Wasteland food was never entirely appetizing, though eating was never Nick’s strong suit, and they were lucky enough to have a handful of people who knew how to cook well. Danse was inseparable from the grill when provided with the right materials, but because of his new stationing in Far Harbor, Nick had tasked himself with taking the job. No one seemed opposed to it or displeased by his cooking. Piper handled dessert, Preston and Hancock handled any other aspects of dinner that needed covering. It was a routine they’d fallen into well. 

Jessie’d also join in with Preston and Hancock from time to time; after all, she was the one who knew pre-war recipes the best. She was most often one of the few waiting impatiently for meals, though, but that was only fair. 

Dinner had been finished off half an hour ago. Most had gotten their fair share, thank goodness, and Jessie had decided to wander into Nick’s room (More like a nitche, given its size) for reasons he wasn’t yet able to understand. 

Jessie was always nutty. Whether it had been a gradual descent into “fun” instability, or if it was her simply learning to be herself around her new family, was difficult to determine. Although, there were others habits she’d caught, ones that did not fit into the “Opening up to family” category. They fit more as a bug she’d caught from Far Harbor’s fog. 

Casual cannibalism was one thing, taking enjoyment in particular killing was another. The oddest one, however, had to be her new canines. 

If Atom was out there, he’d apparently gifted her with two new, sharp teeth. They were similar to fangs in their disposition, and were perfect for ripping and chewing at tougher meats that the wasteland provided. 

They were also good for ripping out throats, but Nick preferred not to think about that part. It was a problem they’d tackle later. 

Now, however, there was another first-hand issue that needed to be dealt with.

Her teeth grated on his arm again, and he flinched. 

As a synth, the only pain he could feel was registered when harm had come to his internal mechanisms, while his plastic-and-metal outer plating was, for the most part, insensible. But that didn’t mean he was oblivious when damage was being done, or when a particular someone had suddenly decided that teething on his arm was the best way to spend her evening. 

There was a lot he didn’t know. He didn’t know whether this was a product of her… corpse habits, or if Hancock decided to be a smartass and sneak chems into her dinner. Whatever the case, the results were disappointing at best and infuriating at worst. 

And they were very quickly reaching the “worse” end of the spectrum. 

He drummed his fingers on the desk impatiently. Glaring and warnings had yet to stop her from using him as a chew toy, and while there was no true damage being done, her fangs were tough enough to leave small marks in the polyester. 

Attempting to make more of a point, he huffed, resting his chin in his hand. It only caught a glance from her, a playful glint in her eyes. She made a short growl as she continued. 

“You think you’re cute, don’t you?” 

She huffed at him, something of a reserved laugh. It only made his own glare burn brighter. 

“Don’t tell me supper wasn’t enough for you.” He began to pull his arm back, but Jessie refused to let go. “Even if you didn’t, you and I both know where Danse’s snack stash is.” 

That seemed to take her attention. She paused to look at him once more, a smile beginning to crease the corners of her lips. 

Jessie was too good at being weirdly, infuriatingly adorable when she wanted to be. There were also times where she seemed to take amusement in testing the limits of his temper and patience. Now was one of those times. 

But at least he had her interest in something other than teething his arm. “Like the sound of that, Hm? How about we-” 

“Ngh-hmm.” She growled, shaking her head slightly. 

No deal. 

He heaved a heavy sigh, leaning his face further into his hand and rubbing pinching the bridge of his nose. “Things I put up with… tell me, I’m not tasteless, am I?” 

Jessie hummed in return. Unexpectedly, she released Nick from the grip of her jaw, lifting her head and shaking it slightly lightly. “Mmm Hmm, nah. Just bitter.” 

Of course he was. God forbid if Jessie tried to find a way to fix that.


	5. Worse than a Training Exercise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on an idea from something that happened in game, Danse and Jessie find themselves in denial about their mistakes, and most importantly, the consequences. However, Hancock decides to play mother hen.

“Ey, Pirate Girl.” 

Jesse stopped in her tracks, casting a bleary look at Hancock. He’d stopped several steps behind her, Paladin Danse following suit, nearly bumping into the ghoul as he stood in place.. 

He rarely used that nickname. It was more affectionate than demeaning, referencing the tricorn hat Jessie wore each and every opportune moment. It was somewhat of an inside joke, considering the mayor himself wore similar apparel, but the way Hancock spoke gave an air of hostility. 

“What is it?” 

Hancock stared at her, inky eyes getting darker.. “I’m getting real tired of this game you and Tin Can are playing here. What’s wrong with you guys?” 

“What do you mean, Hancock?” Her voice shook. She knew exactly what he was talking about. All three of them did. Yet, fake obliviousness still spilled from her lips. 

Hancock’s expression didn’t change.. He knew she was playing stupid. There were no secrets between them. 

She wanted to pretend, though. Pretend that she and Danse had been coordinated through the day, pretend that their skin wasn’t pale and that their steps weren't faltering, and that the grips on their weapons were as stable as any. 

Maybe try to forget that what had happened last week, in the glowing sea, happened at all. 

Though, there was only so long that children could play pretend before their parents put their game to an end , sending them to do chores or bed. Most days, Jesse would have done so, but today, Hancock was up for the task. 

“Are you guys on something? Because whatever it is, it doesn’t look fun. Neither of you look good right now, and that’s a lot coming from me.”

“I said we’re _fine._ ” Jessie hissed. 

The ghoul holstered his weapon, placing his hands on his hips and stepping back to face the both of them. “I’m sorry, but I can’t take that as an answer, sweetheart. ‘Fine’ isn’t looking pale as a ghost in the middle of a wasteland, and no one who’s ‘fine’ is stumbling every few minutes or stopping for a tinkle every goddamn hour. You’re not fine, so what the hell is wrong with you two?” 

Jesse and Danse glanced at each other, but neither spoke, preferring to avoid Hancock’s gaze and fumble at what they held in clammy palms and fingers. 

Hancock shook his head, sighing. “Gonna play that game, are ya?” 

After several moments of silence, Danse shifted where he stood, raising a closed fist to his mouth as he cleared his throat. Beads of sweat were visible on his neck, skin just as pale as Jessie’s. She herself glared at him.

“You got somethin’ to say, Tin?” 

After swallowing hard, and picking at the rim of his power armor, he finally spoke. The words came slowly, as if he had difficulty finding them. “Well, maybe it's true, that me and my knight may not be in… optimal function- functioning conditions.” 

Hancock nodded, rolling his shoulders. “Well, no shit. That’s better than nothing, though.”

Jesse watched as Hancock adjusted his hat, snapping her gaze back to to the paladin at her side. He refused to look at her now, staring past Hancock at nothing. The life in his eyes was faded, remorse resting in them more than anything else. 

It wasn’t unexpected. He never liked talking about these things, admitting he’d messed up or when something was wrong, let alone to someone like Hancock.. The thing was, now, he wasn’t even supposed to be admitting anything, especially about something that “didn’t” happen. 

When Danse looked at her seeking approval, she shook her head. 

“We’re not going anywhere until you guys fess up, got it?” Hancock closed in, particularly on Jessie. His voice reduced to a raspy growl.. “Last time I’m asking, Jess.. What the hell did you guys get into?” 

Her bottom lip twitched. She had no excuse left, no reasoning that wouldn't get them send back home. 

Before Hancock could start with any threats, Danse spoke over him, nearly blurting. “It was the glowing sea.” 

“What _specifically_ the glowing sea? I’ve never seen radiation sickness like this.” For just a moment, the edge of hancock’s lips twisted upward. “You try some crazy chems you found out there?” 

“No, no! We… Well, we-” 

“Can it, Danse!” Jesse hissed again, even louder. 

Danse’s gaze, glowing in a different light, snapped in her direction. “You first! I’m your commanding officer, you should be listening to /me!/” 

Jessie immediately shrank away, a fearful look in her eyes. 

She swore Danse looked guilty for just a moment before he continued, much to Jessie’s own dismay. His voice was weaker then. 

“We may have… mis- miscalculated the risk of certain… How do I put this- uhm, personal activities, while taking shelter in one of the glowing sea’s damaged structures.” 

All while he spoke, a blush crept up his neck and into his cheeks. The twitch in Hancock’s lip had grown into a wide grin. 

Danse wasn’t lying. It had been the darkest night they’d ever seen in the sea, ravaged by severe, hailing radstorms that even the sea’s fauna sought to hide from. Fate led them to ducking into an ancient parking garage, the corpses of ghouls scattered about, strewn from sloppily lain sleeping bags by an unknown force. 

A small fire sparked from a gathered pile of litter made for subtle, warm lighting, and the quiet trickles and splashes from the flooded levels beneath them calmed their senses more than the flame had. 

Perhaps their following actions made the night into a better one, though neither of them considered it becoming a night to regret. Not until the both of them had become aware of their sickness, tracing any possible sources back to the night in the glowing sea. 

That was also the moment they decided it was fine, everything was fine, and that they’d wait it out. They wouldn't think about it. 

Because that always worked, right?

“So you’re saying… oh my god-” Hancock gave a gruff chuckle, developing into a laugh. “You guys- Oh my god, Seriously? That’s the most romantic setting you guys could find, and now you’ve got some bug?” 

“It was a poor choice.” 

“Hah! No doubt on that. But hey, look at the bright side, big guy. You’re not alone.” Hancock lightly gestured to Jessie. 

She glared at him, fists clenched under crossed arms. Hancock’s light hearted demeanor faded when her brow twitched. 

“But- uhh, In all seriousness, you guys are still worrying the hell out of me. I don’t want you traveling like this, whether you accept the fact that you messed up or not.” 

He nodded toward the flares tied to Jessie’s belt. “Call a vertibird down with one of those fancy flares and get some help on the Prydwen. I’m not letting you guys keep traveling, because you’re going to get yourselves killed like this.” 

Every part of her wanted to snap. Turn, say no, and keep on with getting to Saugus, but her body began to protest. A deep, infused fatigue had settled in her bones hours before, and a painful knot in her gut grew tighter. Glancing at Danse, she could see in his eyes that he wasn’t far from the same state. 

She was ornery, and stubborn, but she knew Hancock was even more so. On top of that, he cared. 

Were they pouting? Jessie hoped not.. Knights and paladins didn’t pout, did they?

As everything else that had been brought up, she didn’t want to think about it. 

But damn, if Hancock wasn’t right… 

“Alright. We’ll go.” she sighed, indignation in her voice. She unhooked the smoke flare from her belt, loading it into the flare gun and firing upward. 

It would be a long wait for the vertibird, and a long ride to the Prydwen.


	6. Bath Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danse helps Jessie get clean while thinking about the previous events of an exciting day in New Vegas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place in a... Situation, I thought of where Danse and Jessie were called out to the Mojave by my Courier, Aulet Hoot.

It was somewhat difficult not to fawn over the way Jessie nuzzled his chin, purring something loving yet unintelligible, but it had been a long day and it was late and Danse was too exhausted to focus on anything other than getting her clean, and it was late. 

The clock in their suite had read _12:02_ a.m. just before he’d dragged her into the bathroom, but God knew how long they’d already spent in there. Truly, because Danse wasn’t sure if he’d come out to find that half an hour had passed or open the bathroom door to be greeted by morning mojave sun beaming through the blotted windows.

It wasn’t as if he was used to getting much sleep anyways. When the dark of night came, years of battle and repressed fears crept within the corners of his vision, bringing about their terrible offspring of insomnia. 

But frankly, Danse didn’t care about getting actual sleep. At the moment, any morsel of rest alone sounded like the best gift he could possibly be given. 

Second to Jessie, but she’d seen better days, even if she didn’t look the part, now or earlier that day. 

Jessie had been stubborn about getting in the tub, too fussy and disoriented for her own good. Danse could only guess she’d have a similar attitude about getting _out_ of the tub, too. Only when she was actually in it did she seem to be enjoying herself, playing with the tinted water and placing small kisses on his neck as she tried to tangle her limbs in his own every other minute.

It would have been sweeter if he wasn’t trying to wash blood out of her hair. 

If it had been up to him, the two of them would have been divided by the tub wall, with Jessie doing most of the cleaning herself and Danse covered in as little water as possible. 

The world was an unfair place, however, and often had other conclusions planned. 

She’d scored a luck skill of four when they’d tried the Vit-o-matic at the Gomorrah. Just a game, of course, but it had only reinformed them the long stated truth that luck was not on Jessie’s side, and by extension Danse’s side, and that meant things would often blatantly refuse to go as planned and one or both of them would have to get creative. Danse knew that. Danse was used to that, actually. 

That’s what made it so easy for Danse to put himself where he was now, wearing nothing more than his underwear and trying to clean a Jessie who wore even less than that. 

They were both mature adults, and at the moment, he could not have given less of a damn about what was between her legs and cared far more about any leftover matting or grime that may have been left behind her ears or on the back of her neck. 

She hummed something Danse still found himself unable to understand, and he simply hummed in agreement as he combed stray tangles out of her hair with his fingers. Some of the knots refused to fray; he decided they’d have to be brushed out by morning, which would be much easier with the blood gone.

Much of this would be easier if she hadn’t managed to make such a mess of herself in the first place, but thoughts like that were often redundant. The past was the past, and now was now. 

(It was almost funny, how the woman who’d grown up in a totally different world adapted better to life shattering change than he had. 

But that was beside the point. A distant, complicated thought in their temporary world of simplicity.)

Of course, a bit of problem solving on the New Vegas strip was what they had come for. It’s what Aulet, the apparent grandmaster of New Vegas, had asked of them. There was no wiggling their way around trouble, but with all things considered, it could have gone a lot smoother. 

Danse glanced up. Jessie was still smiling, a goofy toothy smile that revealed a shade of red staining her teeth and the small, inexplicable fangs she’d acquired from the fog of Far Harbor. 

A lot smoother. 

Jessie had never been dodgy about her less-reputable tendencies. Everyone at Castle, at least once, had seen her sink her teeth into the throat of an unsuspecting raider or fall onto a freshly killed target to sate her appetite. Although she’d rarely done it sober, dosages of Psycho usually encouraging these outbursts, Jessie made it very clear over conversation that she’d done it many times and she’d definitely do it again with little hesitation or regret. So as long as she had a taste Psycho, first. 

Psycho that Jessie now happened to be suffering the aftereffects of, but it at least this way it made her more disoriented and even affectionate rather than violent and hungering for blood as she had before.

The relieving part was that Jessie had never seemed comfortable around “her own kind”, who were most often either deranged wild men or people that were far too clean and happy not to be found suspicious. 

The Ultra Luxe, a hotel and casino run by the White Glove Society (A name that Danse had little appreciation for), had been of the former. It was unexpected at first, only a twinge in his mind as soon as he’d set his eyes on the clean white floors and neat apparel of the staff. 

“ _They’re cannibals_ ” His instincts had said. 

“ _No they aren’t_ ” his greater reasoning had said. 

Needless to say, his instincts had won the battle that day. 

It was the casino’s grand secret, though only a secret to those who refused to let go of ignorance surrounding rumors. That was the thing about the wasteland; if there was a floating rumor about your destination, you sure as hell hung onto it. 

It was backwards for the White Glove Society and Jessie’s arrival. They’d acted scolding, disgusted with Jessie and her rumored “Dark Craving” while completely disregarding even the slightest suggestion that they’d delved into similar practices in the past. 

That was until one of the higher ups had pulled her aside and invited her to “dinner.”

Much of it, Danse was too tired to recall. That or he didn’t care to recall it, because more often than not memories of cult-like cannibals were distressing to remember and he’d had enough memories of blood, bullets, and raw terror as it was. 

Though, the details that shined bright enough to remember often bubbled themselves to the surface without warning or consideration. He recalled the way Jessie tensed when Mortimer had made his intentions clear, and her fake smile and delight at his offer of a “ _Free meal and renewal of tradition_ ” 

She wanted no part of it. He wanted no part in it, yet there they were. No exchange of words was needed before Danse and Jessie agreed, the casino’s secrets would be pulled up like the roots of weeds, and the White Glove Society’s taste for blood would be brought to an end that very night. 

It did. Only, part of Mortimer’s offer had been fulfilled. 

It was so close to a clean mission, a rare blessing in the dozens if not hundreds of encounters Danse and Jessie had together over the years. So close to catching the baddie red handed, and getting out without a mess of their own. 

_So close._

But not close enough. 

Because the baddie, Mortimer, had a failsafe. Of _course_ he had a failsafe, in the form of forcibly tranqing Jessie with an extremely potent, disorienting dose of Psycho-Jet to convince her to “hunt”, kill, and _eat_ Danse in front of a live audience. 

She was like an animal. Prowling on all fours like a panther, twitching, growling, baring teeth and eyes wide with fear and fury. Jessie’d pounced on him, pinning Danse to the ground with fangs drawn only a centimeter from his throat before she stopped cold, hot breath on his neck. 

Danse, in that moment, experienced the second moment in his life where he knew he was going to die. 

That was until Jessie, still somehow the Jessie he knew, did the most peculiar thing. 

She began to _laugh_. A hardy, garbled and breathy laugh that was oddly familiar and chilling all at once. The icy venom of shock only continued to glissade through his veins as she leaned down again to peck a few kisses onto his neck rather than tear it out with more than capable jaws, instead nuzzling at his scratchy beard while humming delightedly and even going so far as to rasp “ _Danseyy~_ ” in a singsong voice. 

He’d always hated that nickname, but he’d take it over being eaten alive by the one person he loved most. 

Danse guessed all would have been fine if Mortimer, only a few feet away, hadn’t made the fatal slip that he had. He yelled at Jessie, scolding her like a disobedient cur and demanding she hurry up and finish the job. 

That was all it took for Jessie to remember she was still hungry, and to decide that Mortimer would be far more delicious than “Dansey.” 

Mortimer _was_ put to justice, in his own sickly ironic way. 

It would be difficult to forget the spray of blood and gurgling screams that only stopped after the man’s throat had been sufficiently torn out, and how long exactly Jessie was allowed to feast on her kill until the local securitrons had managed to pry her off and get the area vacated. She’d been completely coated crimson, breathing heavily while held in the tight arms of a worried-looking Yes Man.

So that was that. Another memory for the trauma pile, Danse guessed. 

Mortimer had turned out to be the only “true” cannibal among those of the White Glove Society, but by no means did it mean the Society was happy with the scene that had been caused that night. If it weren’t for Aulet’s influence, The two of them likely would have been banned or put to some sort of trial on the strip.

Aulet herself seemed more impressed than unnerved at the whole conundrum, but was concerned enough to assign Yes Man to oversee their suite for the night until Jessie had slept off the drug. 

The worst of it had long worn off, but it didn’t mean Jessie wasn’t keen on giving Danse further reminders of earlier events. 

She laughed again, just a little bit, hugging him and nuzzling his beard like a cat. He let her, focusing on scrubbing her hair and ignoring the hollow, haunting feeling that her disoriented laugh left him with. 

He lightly pushed her away, also trying to ignore the small look of hurt he received in return. 

“Please don’t be like that. Just let me get a look at you, soldier.” 

Apart from the scars and stretch marks littering her body, she seemed mostly clean. Albeit all variants of wasteland grime tended to be able to escape attempts of cleaning, and Danse knew he’d probably feel the prickly sensation of dried blood somewhere in her hair by tomorrow. Or, well, morning. 

Red hair in the wasteland was rare in its own right, unique and beautiful- it was one of the many things that allowed Jessie to draw attention to herself the way she always had without even trying. The way she had with all the way back when she was just a stranger using his power armor for cover and screaming while firing 10mm bullets into a crowd of shambling ferals. 

All of its beauty considered, it was a damn nuisance to clean. But that could have been blamed on its thickness as well. 

“You need a haircut.” Danse commented, loosely picking up a thick lock that trailed down to her chest. “Long hair is a disadvantage in a place like this. I wouldn’t want to you be grabbed by someone, you know.” 

Jessie shrugged, closing her eyes delightedly as she did. 

He doubted she realized what he was even suggesting. “Not to mention it’s already proven extremely difficult to clean. You know. With all the _blood._ ”

The statement received nearly the same unchanging reaction, except with the addition of hardy giggle. There was not an ounce of remorse, nor regret, in the way she held herself. 

 

Danse heaved a heavy sigh. Suggestions weren’t going to get by to her; He’d have to get straight to the point. 

He loved her. He loved her more than anything else in the world. But… 

His hands were set on her shoulders, not too stiff and not too heavily, yet still firm. She looked at him a little perplexed and he looked at her right back with a feign fatigue in his eyes. 

“Jessie.” He meant to sound stern. It came out more exhausted than anything else. “Can you please stop… eating people?”

She looked at him for a moment. Then another. Then she cracked one of her stupid, far too wide grins that Danse loved and hated all the same. “Nah. People are tasty” She slurred, but suddenly fell in to hug him again despite his efforts to keep her stationed. “Not you, though. I _looove_ you.” 

It wasn’t like he could (or had the energy to) say no, or convince her otherwise. At this point Danse was satisfied so as long as he knew he was no longer on the menu. He intended to keep it that way, and hoped Jessie had similar intentions. She sure seemed to, the way she insisted on snuggling with him in what was, in Danse’s book, possibly one of the worst places to cuddle. 

When it came to the bathtub they both rested in, there was no guessing what it’d seen through the years. Maintenance, hopefully. 

There was a sharp knock at the bathroom door that made both of them jump. An echoey, metallic voice quickly accompanied it. “Mr. Saul? You’ve been in there quite a while, is everything going alright? How’s Mrs. Reubens?” 

Danse relaxed slightly. There was another nickname he was never particularly fond of. “We’re fine, Yes Man. Almost done. We’ll be out in a moment.” 

“Alrighty!” Yes Man’s voice sounded far too close to the door. His metallic whirring faded, however, and soon they were alone again. 

There was a pause. It was a moment where Danse expected something to happen, even the smallest disturbance to once again challenge their moment of tranquility, yet it never came. 

“Jessie?” 

She didn’t skip a beat. “Mm-Hmm?” 

Everything he’d said to her before that had come with great effort, Danse tip-toeing around complex combinations of words that had previously given him the reputation of a walking thesaurus while he had already been frustrated and nervous with Jessie. For the first time since their encounter at the Ultra Luxe, his choice in words came effortlessly. 

“I love you too.”


End file.
